One Hand, One Heart
by blak-cat23
Summary: Manolo is back from the dead before her eyes in San Angel, and María doesn't know whether to kiss him, slap him, or marry him immediately. So she does all three. Companion piece to Weep Little Lion Man (as requested)


**Note**: My Spanish is a little rusty so if conjugations are wrong or accents missing, my bad. I need to get out of the habit of naming fics after song lyrics but it does give you a nice song recommendation to listen to while you read (One Hand, One Heart, West Side Story, specifically Glee cast version)

If everyone was being honest with themselves, Manolo Sánchez was the last thing on everyone's minds that afternoon when Chakal came knocking down the front gate of the town. Even for María, Manolo was placed in the very back of her head as she stared down the banditos. The particular image before her eyes at the moment was Joaquín, very much defeated and, she feared, about to be killed before her eyes as Chakal held him down. And all for a damn medal.

Her specific thought had been, _ah men_, when the light appeared from the ground and shot up. It was bright, but not in a blinding way, in fact it drew you in, it was soft like a fog made of fireflies. But the wind and heat it radiated was another story. María was thrown out of the way and onto the ground in a cloud of dust. When she looked up, she thought she must be dreaming

Manolo stood in place of the light, no worse for wear, and very much alive. In his hand, the medal (_ah, men_).

"Manolo…"

She said it without meaning to, because saying would mean she believed what she was seeing and believing it would mean heartbreak when it inevitably turned out to be a mirage or dream or cruel joke.

More flashes of light appeared and Manolo was joined by various…people? The were many shapes and sizes and all of them, skeletons.

"It's the Day of the Dead, Manolo!" called a female voice and all eyes turned to atop the church where stood three of the oddest being's María had ever seen. She knew one to be the in the image of Santa Muerte. The other two, nothing that María recognized or recognized as human. "We have some…leeway."

María looked back at Manolo, it was too good to be true. On this Day of the Dead they sent him back. And there he was, not a skeleton like the others, but blood and flesh and bones and that ridiculously wavy hair.

Joaquín was on his feet quickly as well, gaping with the same sense of hope María must have had painted all over her face.

And before she knew it she was in his arms, his very, very warm arms. The hand that went to his chest to support herself felt a steady, but fast, thumping from beneath the bones of his chest. There was blood flowing under his skin and there were lungs inflating beneath his ribs and he was kissing her.

And she kissed him back. She grabbed on tight, perhaps even pulled a bit of hair at the base of his neck but she didn't care because if he could feel pain that meant he was alive. She didn't have time to dwell, as much as she wanted to and as much as she imagined she would in all the times this scenario played in her head, on the feel of his lips or how her heart was racing how butterflies took off in every direction beneath her belly button.

He was warm and holding her and even in the middle of battle, it was worth it.

And then fate saw fit to steal him away again, if only for a few moments, and this time it was Joaquín who returned him back to her. And the first thing María did, was slap him.

"_Ay_!" his hand went to his, quickly reddening cheek. _"¿Por que?"_

"¡_Porque tu es un burro!_ You could have been killed again—you were going to be killed again!" she yelled as Joaquín's hand planted firmly on her shoulder to hold her back.

"You will not believe the day I had," he groaned in deadpan, removing his hand and María had never been so happy to see a red stain on his previously pale and waxy skin. But for that one she almost smacked him again.

"That was stupid thing you did," Joaquín said.

"Which one?"

"I can think of a few."

Some sort of communication passed between Manolo and Joaquín that María was not a part of. A message was sent and a message was received. Manolo looked down and Joaquín's hand went to his shoulder in that heavy way that men always used to tell each other everything was okay. She didn't push them, she learned as a child it was never good to push them with the complex web of emotions that surrounded their group.

"Bravo Manolo, that's my boy," said La Muerte, descending down on air, candles following closely and not missing a beat. The other two followed her. "And bravo to you Joaquín, for learning you don't need a medal to make yourself brave. Friends do just as well."

Gods, they were gods. They were_ the_ gods and Joaquín blushed deeply and bowed his head, holding tight to the bandage around his eye perhaps so as not to offend her with the sight of dirt and blood on his face. But Manolo greeted the woman with a bright smile and deep bow.

"How can I ever repay you my lady?"

"There is no need Manolo. The life we gave you today was won and earned by you and I charge you to keep it as long as you are able, I don't wish to look upon you again for quite some time."

Her fingers, sparkling like thousands of crystals grazed his cheek and her face came forward to place a kiss on his forehead.

"My blessing still stands, may your heart always be pure," she whispered.

"Yes well," said the black one with wings, "Our day won't last forever. One way or another, I demand to see a wedding and put this whole business behind us." He rolled his eyes.

"What whole business?" María finally spoke.

"It's a very long story," Manolo smiled, walking over and kissing her hairline.

* * *

><p>For the first time, in what felt like centuries, Manolo and María were alone again, holed up in the same closet, sneaking what time they had before the women found them and whisked María off to dress and forbid Manolo to see her until he was looking at her from the altar.<p>

Their foreheads were pressed together, eyes closed, hands joined between them. They talked for a while, Manolo explained nearly everything, leaving out some more gruesome parts, those stories were for another time, as fast as he could and as soon as he sighed a deep breath at the end she fell into his hands and they stayed that way since.

"You sure you want this?" he said.

"Don't start."

"I only mean, so soon?"

She pulled back and opened her eyes. His eyes were soft, but brighter than she'd seen them since they were children together. She sent her fingers through his tufts of thick hair and his eyes fell closed again. Her hand slid down his face to rest firmly on his cheek, prickled from stubble.

"I lost you twice in one day," she said, "I won't risk it again without first making you my husband."

Joaquín would have made some blundering attempt to correct her, but Manolo smiled and placed his calloused fingers over hers on his cheek and turned his lips to the base of her palm. He then elicited a flurry of giggles from her as he haphazardly kissed his way up her bare arm and neck and jaw until he found her lips and then he stayed there and she relaxed again. Her fingers wrapped around his lapels and pulled him as close as possible until their chests were nearly touching.

"Excuse me," droned the voice of Xibalba followed by a bang at the door. "We get it, you're in love, I'm going to lose. Do you think you could hurry it up?"

"Balby! You are the most insensitive, unromantic—"

"That's not what you said two nights ago."

María giggled and gave Manolo a gentle push. He gave something like a pout but smiled again and kissed her cheek before rising and loudly pushing the door open, smacking Xibalba in the process and a flurry of tar covered feathers flew about.

* * *

><p>"You know, I'm relieved to be honest," came Joaquín's voice. In the mirror she saw he was leaned against the door, a new bandage over his missing eye.<p>

María turned, once again in the same gown she wore only hours before, when she stood with him at the altar.

"You should get eye that looked at."

"What eye?"

"I'm serious."

"After your wedding."

He walked forward with a limp, he held out his hands and María obliged, placing her palms in his. He took them both to his lips and burly mustache. He then released them and smiled.

"You look far brighter than you did at our wedding," he said.

"Joaquín—"

"No, you don't have to apologize. I knew you loved Manny, probably much longer than you did. I won't say it doesn't hurt, just a little, but seeing you happy after I saw the alternative today, is worth more than medals. And having him back is well worth my eye," he said. "I'd give the other one if they asked."

Joaquín had shouldered a great deal of pain over Manolo's death, and did his best to mask it. She knew he harbored a similar guilt to her own, what for, she wasn't sure, and she never planned on asking, what the two of them said and got up to back then was between them and it was over. They were both here and she would take it as is if the alternative was nothing at all. Perhaps the debt he felt his guilt owed Manolo was repaid with the medal he'd selflessly given up to protect his friend.

"I do love you, you know," she said. And he nodded.

She then took his elbow with both hands and nudged him to lead the way. Her father was still here (and still staunch with tradition) to give her away. But Joaquín, the closest thing to a brother she'd ever know, could walk her as far as he could. He placed a kiss to her cheek before letting her walk forward to General Posada who was teary eyed.

"_Ay, papá_," she smiled.

At the altar was Manolo, guitar still strapped to his back even at his own wedding. His smile lit up the room, La Muerte and Xibalba lurked in the background, above the pews, one watching with bright eyes and rosy cheeks, the other yawning before being slapped by the other.

And for a second, she let herself forget everything that had happened and pretended she'd simply returned from boarding school, and marveled at the man Manolo had grown into and all the ways he was exactly the same. She giggled at how her younger self may balk at knowing she would one day walk down the isle toward him, but also find no surprise in it.

A time for dwelling on death was not today. Their loved ones walked among them again and she'd fall asleep next to him, and she'd wake up to his face. One day they'd have children that looked like both of them, perhaps the gods who'd bet on them would look kindly upon them in old age and not let them depart too soon or too far apart.

In the end it was truly María marrying Manolo and not the other way around. After all, she'd yanked him in for a kiss before the priest could even finish.


End file.
